


Gibson Scrap Yard

by Rambert



Series: The radicalization of Craig Boone [5]
Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Alcohol, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Crying, Cussing, Depression, Electricity, Emotional Hurt, Frustration, Gritty, Heavy Drinking, House Cleaning, Independent New Vegas (Fallout), Letters, M/M, Mojave Wasteland (Fallout), Mother-Son Relationship, NCR | New California Republic, Novac (Fallout), POV First Person, Sad, Separation Anxiety, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, Survival, Technology, Trans, Vomiting, War, Wartime Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 04:53:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28557909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rambert/pseuds/Rambert
Summary: Casey is having a hard time reinstating Novac's damaged power grid and asks Boone to travel to Camp Forlorn Hope to find an essential part.
Relationships: Craig Boone/Courier (Fallout), Craig Boone/Non-Binary Courier
Series: The radicalization of Craig Boone [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2085471
Kudos: 3





	Gibson Scrap Yard

**Author's Note:**

> I've officially retconned this series so that Casey and Boone have only known each other six weeks by this point because the canon moves at a fast clip. I may make other minor changes the longer this series goes on-- this is the price y'all pay for me uploading things faster than I edit them ^^;

"Fucking god damn _fuck_ ," I curse, throwing my wrench aside in dismay and standing up to pace around.

I'm so frustrated I could scream. I've been working for almost a week on the Novac power grid, trying to get it up and running again, but nothing I'm doing is working and I've just broken yet _another_ conductor-- a part that is as expensive and difficult to find as it is heavy to lug around.

HELIOS One had a mainframe that booted right back up when I got a good generator to it, because that building hadn't been abandoned for long enough to allow for decay of the grid itself. I took that for granted, assuming this grid would be equally easy to start up.

Unfortunately out here I've discovered quite a bit of storm damage in the main part of the grid's external housing that's eaten away at some of the wiring. And the pipes have been corroded by both rust and radiation over time since the bombs.

Though Mrs. Gibson has been very generously supplying me with parts to use it's still been backbreaking and extremely unrewarding work so far. No one is even pressuring me but myself, but I've always been stubborn so admitting failure is catastrophic. I'd rather throw myself at this problem for the next ten years than give up and walk away leaving Novac to fend for itself.

But that doesn't mean I'm any less frustrated now. Not to mention that I'm filthy from head to toe, dirt and mechanical grease all over me that the generator for my room doesn't have the capacity to produce enough water pressure in the shower to clean off. So I've been rather _gritty_ to say the least these past few days, and I'm tired of being so.

My sheets are getting disgusting, but I don't have enough detergent to wash them and my clothes. I could get more from the Dino Bite, but I know the supply lines are tough and I don't want to take more than my fair share and abuse my discount with Cliff. Besides, admitting that I need more detergent means admitting that I'm not even close to finishing this project... which I don't want to do right now.

I need a new conductor. Again. Exhaling harshly, I head on over to Mrs. Gibson's house at the scrap yard. She's sitting out on her chair like she always does-- her prospecting days are long gone, and now she just trades with people who pass through like I do.

"Oh, Elliott, don't tell me you broke _another_ conductor?" she sighs sadly when seeing my expression as I walk up to her.

I cringe, but I know she's just being sympathetic. After all these are all _her_ parts I'm breaking, that she gave me for free. She could be selling them, but after a conversation with her about HELIOS One she's decided that these parts are her 'investment in Novac's future'.

"Sorry Mrs. Gibson but yes. Can I get a new one please?"

"Oh dear, I'm all out now. Didn't I tell you that last one was the only one I had left? It could have slipped my mind," she admits with a shrug.

"It's okay, I'm the one who's breaking all your stuff," I say, kicking at rocks at my feet like I wish I could kick myself.

"Don't be so hard on yourself," Mrs. Gibson says sweetly, and I sigh as she continues.

"You're the only one motivated to do any good around here. Even when I was your age, all I cared about was getting mine and getting even. You're a different sort of young man, Elliott, and I'm glad you found us here in Novac."

My face burns from pleased embarrassment-- is this what it's like to have a mother that actually cares about you as a person?-- but I don't hesitate as I reply "Thanks, Mrs. Gibson."

"Any time, honey. And as far as conductors, you might try asking up at that NCR camp. I know they're a hot spot up there on the front lines now, so I'm sure they need some generators and they might have some spare parts to sell," Mrs. Gibson says.

"You mean Forlorn Hope?"

"That's the one."

\--

Boone and I are eating lunch together-- something we've established as a daily routine now without having to discuss it-- when I bring up what Mrs. Gibson said to me.

"Camp Forlorn Hope, huh?" Boone shakes his head.

"Miserable ass place to be. I heard nothing but bad stories, but... I might know a couple guys out there. If they're still alive," he adds morbidly.

"Well, would you be open to checking it out for me while I try and troubleshoot the problems here with the grid? I need to run a few tests before I apply a new conductor, clearly."

"Sure, it's not too far from here," Boone says with a shrug, and I realize that I've just asked him to leave me for at least a day.

"You don't-- have to go right away," I try to amend, but he shakes his head and smirks.

"Nah, I know you're just trying to be rid of me," he jokes, his baritone voice smoothing out in a way where I can clearly tell he's not being serious.

I don't know at what point in the six weeks I've known Boone that I've already begun to know his voice patterns, but all I can do is smile back.

"Ahhh, the jig is up," I say in a terrible pre-war gangster imitation. "Now I gotta scram."

Boone snorts with laughter. "You are _terrible_ at that accent."

"Made you laugh though," I say, and then I realize I've been unconsciously leaning closer and closer over the table towards him and I abruptly sit up straight.

Boone startles a little at my sudden movement, so I add "Seriously though, if you want to wait another day or two I could just go with you. I'm not that anti-NCR that I can't ask them a favor myself."

"I'll do it today," Boone insists. "It's no big deal Casey, I've been wanting something to do since you're so busy here with the power grid stuff and I'm no use to you twiddling my thumbs."

Now it's my turn to snort because I can't imagine Boone _ever_ twiddling his thumbs.

"See? You agree," Boone says knowingly, and I nod.

"All right. It would be a big help," I admit, and he stands up to clear the dishes as usual.

Even though Boone always cooks in here, he always cleans up too despite my offers to help. Says it's what he did for Carla and now he's just used to it. I can't quite figure out if I should be flattered or disturbed by that.

After washing the dishes Boone packs up his things and says goodbye.

"Might not be back til tomorrow depending on the situation there tonight," he says, and I nod despite the tightness in my throat.

Even though it's only a couple hours to the camp, I'm still worried-- there's Legion _and_ mutated wildlife to deal with out that way.

"Be careful. If you're not back by tomorrow night I'll come looking for you," I promise.

Boone smiles at that, and punches my shoulder lightly. "That won't be necessary. I'll come back, Case."

\--

The rest of the day absolutely _crawls_ by. I'm so distracted worrying about Boone's safety that I get nowhere in my troubleshooting, and only have a broken sensor module for my troubles-- luckily those are still in stock at the scrap yard. For now, anyway.

But what if Camp Forlorn Hope doesn't have any conductors, even to sell to fellow NCR? What will I do then, send Boone out somewhere else? Leave Novac?

I sigh in frustration as I tinker. This project has been biting off more than I can chew and I know it, but I want to do it so damn _badly_ that I won't give up. However, that doesn't make the process go any faster or better. By the time the sun is sinking out of view, I call it for the day-- I worked by my Pip Boy flashlight last night and got a broken conductor for it. I need to rest.

Sleep isn't easy to find though, and despite laying down at a reasonable time I don't fall asleep until just a few hours before dawn.

I'm still in bed when a sharp military-style knocking startles me awake.

"Boone?" I call out excitedly, fumbling to pull my clothes on before answering the door.

But when I open it I frown. It's not Boone.

"Who are you?" I ask.

"Private Milo Babcock at your service," the NCR trooper says with a stiff salute. "This is the room number I was given for one Elliott Casey, civilian citizen of the NCR. Is that information correct?"

"Yes, I'm Elliott Casey," I reply, amused at the overly formal way of speaking this trooper is using-- they must be a fresh recruit.

"I have an item for you sir, and it has not yet been paid for," Private Babcock says.

The soldier pulls down his duffel pack to root around in it, grunting with effort as he pulls a heavy object out.

"A conductor," I say, taking it carefully and handing over the caps in exchange-- I barely have enough, this is the very last of my stash from Mojave Outpost.

"Thank you, please pass along my thanks to the camp, but-- where is Craig Boone?"

"First Recon veteran Craig Boone was asked to fill in for one of our wounded snipers until she recovers," says Private Babcock. "He's agreed to stay, and that's why he sent me with this delivery for you."

"...Oh," I say, gripping the door frame tight with my free hand as I nearly drop the conductor. "And how long will he be staying?"

"I'm not sure sir," the Private says curtly. "I wasn't given that information, only the package and your location. Good day." And with that, he departs, leaving me gaping after him in disbelief.

There's not even a note with it, just the conductor itself. Boone really just... left. Just like that.

I feel my eyes burning as I retreat back into my room and shut the door. I set the conductor down gingerly on my small tray table and then collapse into bed, shivering all over with rage and a deeper, more profound sense of loss.

What if Boone never comes back, or worse, is killed out there? All for a fucking part that I'll probably break. I cry myself to sleep like I haven't in ages, waking hours later to a terrible headache.

But Boone is still gone, and by lunch time when I'd normally be eating with him I've pulled myself out to work on the grid like a zombie. Ignoring my hunger pangs, I try everything I can _without_ testing my limited parts, and keep at it all day despite my headache getting worse.

When it gets dark out I trudge back up to the hotel, absolutely no progress made. I've run myself into the ground, and for what? I don't even bother to shower, crying myself to sleep in bed again for what a miserable failure I am. Then I wake up the next morning uncomfortable and ill, and realize my period has started. As if I didn't already feel shitty enough!

I don't leave my room for three days after that. The conductor stays in exactly the same spot. Mostly I can't sleep so I lay awake in bed, watching the spot of sunlight from my broken window blinds moving slowly around the walls as the hours slide by, then watching the moonlight do the same thing at night.

I'd tried turning on my radio for a little while the first day to try and cheer myself up, but when I'd heard "A Kiss to Build a Dream On" by Louie Armstrong come on I'd started crying so hard I'd wanted to die, and had to turn it off. It has stayed off since then.

I barely eat or drink, only doing so to avoid feeling sick. I don't wash myself or pay attention to ED-E's asks to run routine maintenance scans. I spend hours flipping disinterestedly through the cookbook while laying on my back on the bed, letting my dirty feet making footprints on the wall.

On the third night, in a depressed fit of sleep-deprived delirium, I break into Boone's room looking for clues that he was planning to leave me.

I find none: but I do find his whiskey stash. I quickly get stinking drunk and end up vomiting in his toilet, leaving it a mess and passing out still drunk in my bed to get away from the smell.

The next morning my hangover is still so bad that I vomit again, mostly bile because of so little food being in my stomach, and I cry over the toilet while ED-E hovers in the corner of the bathroom above me. My body hurts all over. I end up sleeping more on the cool tile of the bathroom floor before recovering enough to swallow some Rad-X. Then I shower and brush my teeth for the first time in days.

Cleaning my body makes me realize just how foul my room has gotten; the smell of vomit and mechanical grease and B.O. and period blood hits me hard. I go get another box of detergent and a pack of industrially-bleached cleaning rags that the NCR distributes from the Dino Bite, not having a reply to Cliff's remark that I look like I've been hit by a Deathclaw. It's a fairly accurate assessment of how I feel.

Despite my body still aching all over, I spend the rest of the day washing my bedding, washing the footprints off the hotel room wall, and cleaning both my bathroom and Boone's. I haven't eaten anything today but I feel much better after all that. Not better enough to eat, but enough to get some actual rest that isn't haunted by nightmares of Boone turning away from me or worse, Boone dying.

The next day I finally have my appetite back. I eat an actual breakfast of foraged fruit before going back out to the grid. And even though I hit the same walls as before, I decide grimly that this is a sign.

Boone left because he didn't need me any more-- once he'd healed from the grisly trauma of his wife's kidnapping and the aftermath of that, he'd gone right back to the NCR.

Which means that all I have left in the world is myself, and ED-E... just as I'd predicted. The past few weeks have been fun, but people never stay in my life and I never stay in theirs. That's just how it is out here in the Mojave.

\--

If the residents of Novac notice a change in my demeanor since Boone's absence, they blessedly do not comment on it. Mrs. Gibson had asked where Boone was a few days ago and when I'd told her, she must have seen the pain in my face because she'd just clucked her tongue sympathetically and given me a hug. I'd hugged her back while holding my breath to stop from crying.

I'm finally making a little progress on the grid after hitting rock bottom last week. The conductor has been successfully attached without breaking, and the grid can turn on and off now without a brownout, but it's still not going out all the way to the full extent of the coverage or power outputs and I can't figure out why. I'm on the right track though, I just know it.

Delving into this project has been an easy way to distract myself from missing Boone, but it has also been incredibly rewarding in its own right. For once in my life I'm applying my skills for something that isn't just monetary gain, or to earn a roof over my head-- I'm _choosing_ to do this. It feels good.

I've even started eating regularly again. It took a few days, but I'm working hard enough that I get truly hungry multiple times a day and have to stop and eat. I've started using Boone's kitchen, because when the hell will he need it now? And I keep it clean, anyway, on the desperate hope that he'll come back.

I'm up late one night in bed reading an instructional manual Cliff found for me on generators when there's knocking at my door, military-style-- it's Private Babcock again.

"Letter for Elliott Casey," he says crisply, waiting for me to take it before asking "Where do I pay for a room around here?"

"Talk to Cliff Briscoe at the Dino Bite Gift Shop, inside the dinosaur," I say in a daze, standing there in my pajamas with the door open as I stare down at the envelope in my hand.

My full name is printed in a neat, if a bit cramped string of capital letters across the middle. And on the top left it says _Craig Boone_ in the same writing style.

My fingers are shaking so badly that I have to go back into my room and sit down and take a few breaths before I can rip open the envelope.

_Dear Elliott,_ it starts seriously, and I let out a squeal of equal parts terror and delight, reading the rest of the letter as fast as I can to see if it's good news or bad.

_Sorry for not writing you sooner, mail service out here is shit-- I realized too late that I should have sent a note with the conductor, but they wouldn't make another trip out til now. Hope you understand._

_I'm filling in for a sniper who was nearly killed on the front lines last week, the day before I got here. What a coincidence right. Her name is Decker, and she's in bad shape-- Dr. Richards isn't sure if she's going to pull through or not. But she's still fighting. As soon as the soldiers here found out I was part of First Recon back in my active duty they asked me to stay and help out... and you've kind of inspired me to be more helpful, I guess._

_The stories didn't prepare me for how bad it is here though. I miss Novac. I miss you. But hopefully Decker will pull through, and will be able to retake her post in a couple weeks. She's getting the best care possible here at least. The doctor here is real smart, like you._

_How is it going with the power grid by the way? There's another conductor here if you need one. I can probably get it for free since I'm helping out as a veteran. Let me know._

_-Craig_

I hold the letter to my chest after reading it over three times in a row, sighing and feeling like I'm floating.

Why had I been assuming the worst all this time...? Of course communication is tough out here in the wastes, even for the government. Tears of joy prick my eyes and I blink rapidly as I look down in shock at the tender, heartfelt letter.

 _I miss you_ , it says. He misses me! And I'm crying because I miss him too-- now more than ever.

I'm not even bitter about him helping the NCR, not any more. Because his true allegiance has been declared.

\--

Later, when I've composed myself at last, I write a letter back using torn-out pages from the introduction of a blast-scorched book and give it to Private Babcock in the morning before he leaves.

_Craig,_

_Thank you for writing to me to explain what was going on-- I admit I was worried sick about you. I still am now, but less so._

_I hope Decker recovers too, and I'm really glad you're taking initiative to help those people. They better appreciate you and treat you right or they'll have to answer to me._

_The grid is coming along, and keep your fingers crossed that I won't need that spare conductor just yet. Maybe I'll have a good surprise for you by the time you come back._

_I miss you too, and hope you return to Novac soon._

_Yours truly,_

_Elliott_

I watch Private Babcock head out of town with a sigh, resisting the urge to simply wait around for Boone to return like a lost puppy-- I've got work to do.

Besides, I've promised him a good surprise to come back to.

**Author's Note:**

> can u tell my OC courier is a Capricorn?? lmao lord help them


End file.
